


And All Else Fades

by bronweathanharthad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Quest, Post-War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9878462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronweathanharthad/pseuds/bronweathanharthad
Summary: While attempting to write of his trials in Mordor, Frodo suffers a psychotic episode. (content warning: mentions of violence, mentions of blood)





	

_All right, where did I leave off? Captivity, rescue…ah, fleeing the Orc army._

    It was no wonder that Frodo had left off there. Even now, more than a year after the Ring’s destruction, he doubted that he had the strength to write about Mordor. Necessary though it was for later generations to know, he would rather lose another finger than forcibly open old wounds. Having taken a deep, bracing breath, he began to write.

    The words came surprisingly easy to him as he evoked the barren land obscured by darkness, even at midday. Every breath became a heroic feat as the fumes threatened to choke them, and exhaustion so consumed them that even the sharpest rocks would seem as comfortable as a soft, feathery mattress.

    Naught two days into this misery, the Orc armor became too cumbersome for Frodo to bear on top of the impossibly crushing weight of the Ring. His frantic gasps echoed through his ears…

    A tugging pain yanked him off of the chair. With a small cry he grasped the side of his neck. Slowly withdrawing his hand, he saw blood on his fingertips.

    His trembling hands groped for the chain, clumsily extracting the whole thing from under his shirt, searching for the gem. Instead he found only the Ring. Not with all his strength could he pull the chain off, and the Ring grew in size the longer his eyes beheld it.

     _Claim it. End your pointless suffering. I promise you a quick death._

    “No,” he said aloud, “no.”

    He gave a choked cry as the weight grew a thousandfold. Again his hands fumbled for the chain, but before he could unlink it a great and terrible desire overwhelmed him. No, death would not await him, but power – tremendous, infinite power. The power to smite Shelob and her brood where they stood, the power to make the Witch-King pay for his reign of terror, the power to forever protect his home and people from unwanted visitors.

    But before he could claim it for his own, punishment for his greed came cruel and swift. He screamed in horror and inconceivable pain as blood gushed from his maimed finger.

    The sink. He had to rinse and bandage the wound before he bled out.

    He stumbled to the bathroom and scrubbed and scrubbed until the blood became a hardened crust. _Pull yourself together_ , he thought as he slowly moved his gaze to the mirror. _This cannot be real, none of it can._

    For a few fleeting moments he vaguely perceived the sheet-white face and bloodshot, clouded eyes that could only be his. But within an instant, the Eye devoured the image and pierced him with its accusatory, infernal stare. Fear swallowed Frodo whole, rendering him unable to avert his eyes.

    The Eye engulfed him in flame and roared in the Black Speech. Frodo backed away and sank to the ground as the Eye broke free from the mirror. Only then could he close his eyes, and with his fingers curled like claws he covered his eyes with his hands and screamed in silence as the voice grew louder and louder. “Leave me alone!” he cried, “Please! Please!”

    He began to hyperventilate, soon feeling close to fainting. He withdrew his hands from his eyes, and all fingers from his right hand grasped the stump on his left. He trembled and gave weak, fearful cries as the voice screamed for its long-gone treasure.

    The words became indistinct and became one deafening scream, and just like that it was over.

    Frodo cautiously opened his eyes. Nobody but him.

    The mirror reflected only the wall. A gem rested on his chest, and a small trickle of blood, barely visible, oozed from his half-finger, a result of his own fingers digging into the flesh.

    His strength sapped from him, he doubted he could crawl back to the living room, let alone his bedroom.

    Why hadn’t Sam checked on him by now? Surely he would have heard his screams.

    Oh. Right. Sam was out of town.

    He was alone.

    All alone.


End file.
